


write my stories but only if you're in them too

by meathermac



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, collection of drabbles, post-100, shortfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26419240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meathermac/pseuds/meathermac
Summary: a collection of various tumblr requests.
Relationships: Erlin Kindleaf/Beverly Toegold V, Moonshine Cybin & Hardwon Surefoot & Beverly Toegold V
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. pick apart every piece of me (and miss the point entirely)

**Author's Note:**

> y'all i hope you enjoy this!!!! can't wait to write more of these <3
> 
> first prompt: from @beverlytoegoldv on tumblr or the wonderful KLStarre  
> "Erlin, and fly?"

Maybe it’s because he’s grown up in the church of Pelor, but Erlin has always wanted to go to the Feywild. It seems like magic; the idea of a land that is so full of whimsical beauty and fantastical plants and things like that enraptured him since he was little. 

Maybe it was just a distraction from the rising tensions that he could just  _ feel _ , even though he was nine years old and a kid who went on camping trips and cookouts with his church group. 

Maybe it was because the temple to Pelor, with its curling vines and blooming flowers, felt like the only place the war couldn’t touch. 

Maybe it was a way for him to cope with the fact that his parents were gone, a way for him to ignore the fact that he might lose his sister too because when you watch a flower bloom in front of your very eyes and you  _ know _ it’s something magical it’s hard to believe that anyone could possibly leave you.

But they do--not his sister, not his grandmother--but his best friends. First, it’s his best friends, transported to the very place he put all his faith in from the beginning, and he’s the one that  _ put them there _ , he knows it was the right decision but when Beverly tells him what happened he feels so guilty--

And maybe he’s standing in the ruins of the church of Pelor, where he watched the vines curl and let the greenery surround him until he was sure it was gonna be okay again; maybe the plants are dead and greyed out now and maybe he nearly lost the love of his life. 

The Feywild seems so fucking magical when you’re barely twelve years old and everything seems like it’s falling down around you, but when you turn sixteen and you get a letter from your boyfriend and he tells you he met your friends again and they’re older now it seems more like the worst-case scenario. 

There was a day--a long time ago--when Erlin was around eight that he snuck off to the church of Pelor and prayed to the god to let him fly. He didn’t have any reason for it--he just wanted to be able to fly. 

There’s a moment now, standing in the ruins of the very same church, where he has to blink tears out of his eyes because he doesn’t know what he wouldn’t give to be praying for something like that right now. 

A little bit harder to take flight when you’re wearing twenty pounds of armor, though. 


	2. violets and purples, diamonds and circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woof why does it take me an hour to write three hundred words? the world may never know
> 
> prompt from @bitchyybabyy400, who isn't a naddpod fan but was lovely enough to send something in anyways.   
> "I don’t know anything about either of those things but uhh your favorite and the word “beauty” maybe??"

Moonshine knows that beauty is just another one of those things that people outside the crick care about and that she doesn’t because she knows that there are more important things than how big her tits are and how pretty her smile is. She’s gorgeous because she can swing a scimitar and because she loves her MeeMaw, not because she’s got nice hair or whatever. 

The mushrooms by the Grandma Tree are beautiful. The Living Wood at sunset is prettier than any human could ever be. When Moonshine thinks of beauty, she thinks of MeeMaw’s emerald cloak and the Crick babbling along as the elves gather around a stump for a crawfish boil; she thinks of the gash in the sky and the purple light against her best friends’ faces and golden dragons flying through the sky. Beings aren’t beautiful, she thinks, that’s reserved for nature and feelings and the parts of life you don’t have the right words for. 

And the beauty isn’t in the person that you love, it’s in the way you feel and in the way you touch them and the way you say “I love you” and there’s beauty in the way Beverly shows her a letter from Erlin so excitedly and in the way Hardwon slings an arm around her at the end of a long day. 

The beauty isn’t in the people, it’s in the relationships and the words and the actions; it’s in the glittering lights of the Crick and the flowers growing over the ruins of Galaderon. Her friends are beautiful, not because of the way they look but because of the people they are, because of the way they fight and the way they laugh. 

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, now that she’s faced down the end of the world and come out the other side, but she’s seen a whole lot of pretty people who sure aren’t beautiful. 


	3. i've been searching too hard for my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> man sometimes i just think about lydia stormborn and it just. woof
> 
> prompt from anonymous  
> "for one word: uhhh party ape, or if youd like someone decent lydia stormborn, not that party ape isnt decent but. you know."

The Queen of Shadowfell is gorgeous, but she is dangerous and everyone who lives in the shadow plane knows that getting on her bad side is a one-way ticket to the wrath of a woman who’s been through the worst parts of death and back, but if you’re the kind of person Shadowfell is meant for--lost souls, revenants, people who didn’t have anywhere else to go--you won’t meet the Queen, you meet Lydia Stormborn, and she’s as wise as she is powerful. 

Down under the material plane where the sun is only visible for three hours a day, Hardwon Surefoot isn’t the pride of the dwarves, he’s the Prince, and the people of Shadowfell know that he’s just as powerful as his mother. They don’t fear him, just like they don’t fear her, because a queen who rules with one hand on her sword is as much of a coward as one who doesn’t rule at all. 

The Queen of Shadowfell, the Lady of the Shadow Plane, Lydia Stormborn, whatever you want to call her, rules with her sword at her side, ready if she needs it, but it’s not for fighting--she doesn’t need to, really, she’s the best ruler this place has ever had--but ready in case she feels a scrying spell settle in around her and she knows that her son is watching, so she keeps her sword close by but she doesn’t need it to rule. 

Rulers who control their people instead of guiding them are the same kind of people that keep one hand on the hilt of their weapon, and rulers who crave fear instead of respect don’t want their people to be happy, they want them to be subdued. But Lydia isn’t like that, she’s powerful but she doesn’t want control; she’s strong but she doesn’t want enemies to fight with.

Queen Lydia is more than the ruler of Shadowfell, she’s everything it represents; a lost soul, a revenant, the kind of power that comes from warmth in the coldest places. 

And hell, if that isn’t the most powerful fuckin’ thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> lichen, commerce, and scribble, or leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed!!
> 
> hit me up on tumblr [@maple-keenes] or twitter [@maplekeenes] if you wanna talk!!!


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